


Become Who You Were Born To Be

by jamestelrond



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, and all-round bamf, do they have a ship name?, elrond is a good mentor, in this house we love elrond peredhel, legolas/elrond - Freeform, sponsored by the middle earth tourist board, why do they not have a ship name?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestelrond/pseuds/jamestelrond
Summary: Legolas is 1,000 years old, and is still unsure of his purpose in the world. He seeks counsel from Elrond, and finds more than he could have imagined.Very bad summary but I will update it when I've written more of this!
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Legolas Greenleaf, Elrond Peredhel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Become Who You Were Born To Be

As was traditional, Thranduil’s eldest child had chosen to prepare for a path that all hoped he would never have to tread. Laurelas stood by his father’s side and absorbed the art of kingship, assisting Thranduil in the daily running of Greenwood the Great. He showed every sign of becoming a wise and thoughtful king, and it gave security to the elves of the kingdom to see that their future was so settled. The king’s only daughter, Niquisse, had also chosen the path traditional for the middle child. She devoted her hours to music and to the starlight, creating beauty from sound in the absence of the stars, and focusing only on their light when they emerged in the darkness. She knew many of the secrets of the elves, and would share them with no one, saying that they must be earned – or else never known at all. And then there was Legolas. Youngest of three siblings, and therefore destined to become a warrior. He had trained with the bow since childhood, and become the finest archer in any kingdom of Middle Earth.

But he was not happy. Though his siblings had found their purpose along the routes their ancestors had walked, Legolas felt more certain with every passing day that he could not do the same. Every elf should know their purpose by their thousandth year, and his was upon him. He knew only that while his bow brought him satisfaction, it was not enough. He found greater joy in singing with the trees than in his perfect marksmanship – though, he had not yet found the courage to say so to his father. After all, what would he become, if not a great warrior?

><><><

A purpose. Arrows flew in parallel with his thoughts. He had attained one thousand years, and knew as well as any other that it was beyond time that he found his purpose on Middle Earth. Legolas pulled the bowstring taut. What was it? What drove him to exist, like no other need within him? The arrow sank itself into the bark of a slender pine, and Legolas winced. It was a younger tree than he had realised, in his distraction, and the arrowhead had pushed far too deep. Shouldering the bow, he crossed to the pine and placed gentle hands around the entry wound.

Legolas listened for long moments, opening himself to the song that wove the forest into life. Every note helped a leaf to unfurl a little further, every voice filled the air with clear, golden sunlight. After several minutes, he found the voice of the young pine. He began, softly, to sing along with it, his eyes closed and hands pressed to the bark of the tree. As he sang, he moved his hands closer to the arrow. Slowly, slowly, Legolas curled his fist around it and drew it out. His voice never faltered, gentling and apologising for the hurt his own hurt had caused.

The arrow returned to his quiver, Legolas turned toward his father’s halls. Perhaps even the forest couldn’t help him to find the answer to his question, after all.

><><><

The halls always seemed to Legolas like an enchanted mirror of the world outside. Trunks of stone towered above the elves who walked between them, and stone roots anchored them to the edge of the path. Pools glistened with crystal clear water in hidden hollows, and on long tables, all the fruits of the forest awaited the elf who would come and pluck them. But it was not alive. The stone columns would never put out spring leaves, and the blue pools never moved, except with the bodies of elves. The fruits did not weigh down branches, but sat poised on wooden platters.

Their home was cool, and crisp, and utterly unlike the world. Though he had spent all his life in these halls, Legolas had never felt as comfortable there as he did running from branch to branch in the forest beyond their doors. Legolas climbed the stairs that led to the chamber at the heart of the caves system. The throne room. He was pleased to see that his father was not seated, but standing some way to the side of his throne, apparently deep in thought.

“Father.”

Thranduil turned, one eyebrow climbing when Legolas knelt before coming closer.

“Father. I have given considerable thought of late to my purpose, but have been unable to find it in our own woods. I believe now that I must look to the world beyond our borders.”

Legolas held his breath. His father’s feelings toward the rest of Middle Earth were well-known and not encouraging. But in weeks of searching, Legolas had come to realise that it was his only choice. If he could not find his purpose in the Greenwood, then perhaps it lay beyond.

The silence was heavy enough that Legolas worried it might bring the roof of the hall crashing down about their ears.

“Beyond.” Thranduil looked at his son with undisguised dissatisfaction. He had hoped that Legolas would find what he sought right here. His eldest child had long ago devoted his life to their people, and trained constantly for a future kingship he hoped never to inherit. His middle child, a daughter, had found her calling in music, and filled the halls of the Elvenking with a gentle sweetness. Thranduil had hoped that with time, Legolas’ devotion to his bow would prove likewise fulfilling.

“Does the bow no longer bring you pleasure?”

“It does, father. I would not be without it, but it is not… enough. It is not what my heart sings for. I feel I could spend a week in the canopy without loosing a single arrow, and find myself almost equally satisfied as if I had spent it in practice. I believe my purpose lies in that direction; though, if it resides within our woods, I confess I have not been able to find it here.”

Much though he wished to argue, Thranduil knew that he could not. If he demanded that his son remain in the Greenwood, he had no doubt that Legolas would do so. But in trapping him, he would also cut him off from any chance of finding his true calling in the world. Elves had been known to fade over such things, and Thranduil would always choose distance over the death of his youngest child. It was not yet Legolas’ time to join with the song.

“Then you must go, Legolas.”

Legolas raised his head, eyes wide. Had he heard correctly? A radiant smile lit up his face and, forgetting decorum, he threw his arms around his king.

“Father… Thank you. I will not disappoint you.” He would go into the world, and find the reason he had been given the light which shone within him. Thranduil let out his breath in a resigned sigh, and put his arms around his son.

“Be safe, Legolas. The world is filled with dangers and you will face many before you return. Take the path that is yours, and do not stray from it.” After a beat, he added, quietly, “And, write to me. Often. These halls will hardly be our home without our Greenleaf growing in them.”

Legolas tightened his grip and nodded into Thranduil’s shoulder. “Aye, Ada.”

><><><

Legolas paused on the Old Forest Road, the trees he had known since childhood at his back and the mountains ahead. Before leaving, he had visited the pine whose bark his arrow had pierced in error two weeks before. Its healing gave him hope that he, too, would soon be whole.

And now he was on his way. In his pack, he carried a letter of introduction from Thranduil to his oldest ally, over the mountains. His father had advised Legolas to begin there, and seek the advice of one whose counsel could only be overlooked in error.

Stories of the Lord of Imladris had filled Legolas’ first millennium. He had sat with his siblings and listened to tales of the ancient battles and heroic deeds. He had listened as Thranduil spun images of Elrond and the Great War, and the many astonishing accomplishments of the first elves to arrive on Middle Earth.

His route would take him to Lothlorien, and through the mountains via Moria. The prospect made Legolas more than a little nervous. Though there was no natural enmity between elves and dwarfs, his father had made painfully clear that elves of Greenwood the Great should not look to any dwarf for more than an axe between the ribs. Legolas hoped that with the entrance so near to Lothlorien and its peaceful Lady, Moria would prove an exception to this rule.

><><><

Legolas travelled on foot for several days, keeping to the river. Mirkwood, a familiar constant to his left side, provided everything he needed – the woodlands of his childhood held no secrets from the elf, and he found more than enough food and dry wood to make the journey south a pleasant one. The spring air was filled with the sounds of birdsong and the warmth of a sun that knows summer is not far away. It was precisely the right time of year to be on the roads. Dark things do not like to travel in the summer months, as everyone knows; they are at home in the long nights of winter, and travellers do well to take routes with many and spacious inns along the way if they must be about in the cold.  
Occasionally, Legolas paused by the water and took out the letter his father had written to Lord Elrond. He couldn’t quite explain why. He would take it from his pack and brush an archer’s thumb across the name on the front. He never broke the seal, so had no idea what it might say inside, except that it was a note introducing him to the Western Lord.  
It was during one of these pauses that Legolas first sighted Caras Galadhon. One side was hidden by the woodland of Lothlorien, the other made visible from his resting spot by the shape of the ground around it. The city was surrounded by a great circular earthwork, grown over with long grasses and containing inside a sparkling moat of clear water. Inside the embankment, Legolas could make out a the host of towering beech-like Mallorn trees, their golden leaves just now beginning to give way to equally golden flowers. They shone like a beacon in the midst of Lothlorien, a welcome and a warning in one. They were said to be more ancient than any other living tree on Middle Earth, and Legolas could well believe it. He had visited the city once or twice before, when his father took him along on diplomatic visits to the Lady there, and even in his youth the trees had called out to him. They were more open with their thoughts than the trees of Mirkwood, who shared little and only that with those they knew well. The Mallorn trees of Caras Galadhon had welcomed the young wood elf with song. It would be good to hear them again.

Spurred on by this prospect, Legolas put away the letter and resumed his journey, leaping across to the west bank of the Anduin now that his first goal was in sight and running as fast as he could manage toward the stone road emerging from the city gates to the southeast of the green embankment.

The gates, almost as tall as the trees, welcomed Legolas to the city. He slowed to a pace more appropriate for a Prince of Greenwood the Great, conscious that in this place, he couldn’t simply run as he pleased. He was not the child he had been the last time he walked these paths. Legolas made his way to the southeast quarter, where he recalled the Lady’s garden lay and hoped to find her there.

The garden sat nestled between the roots of the great trees, on the ground. Most of the elves of the city lived above, in the branches, but this garden sat below. None would ever harm it, so there was no need for it to be anywhere else – and the plants much preferred the ground to the air. Legolas breathed in the bright, joyous scent of the mosses, trees and flowers, and relaxed with a long sigh. He spent several minutes simply enjoying himself, listening to the plants and humming along with them, before he remembered himself and abruptly stood straight. Without the distraction of the flowers, Legolas became aware that there was someone standing to his right. They felt amused. Turning, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head as the Lady Galadriel approached, shaking her head.

“Rise, Legolas,” she smiled. “I am pleased to see that my garden brings joy to one who can, truly, appreciate it.”

Legolas felt his cheeks colour, which was very unbecoming of an elf but entirely unavoidable. Galadriel often brought out such reactions in the people around her. Her grace and beauty were offset by her desire for laughter, so that very often, no one knew quite what to expect of their times with her.

“You travel to Imladris.” It was not a question. The Lady of Lothlorien had the gift of Sight, Legolas knew, and so he remained quiet. “You would seek out Lord Elrond – though, this is not yet certain. You are unsure of your path.”

Legolas nodded, standing to meet Galadriel’s gaze. “Aye, it is true. My father has sent me to seek Lord Elrond’s counsel and guidance in discovering my purpose. I have been unable to find it in our forest. I know…” He paused, aware that the Lady must have many more pressing duties, but she inclined her head and so he went on. “I know that I do not wish only to be an archer. It brings me satisfaction, but not peace. I feel at home among the living things of the forest, particularly the trees and other plants. I would follow that feeling, if I could find a path that took me there.” This was the result of his thoughts as he travelled south along the river’s edge. Legolas had realised that much of the pleasure of archery came not from the bow, but from the feeling of being among the trees. He knew the plants, he knew their songs and their needs and wishes. They seemed always to open to him. When he had touched a leaf which coated itself with a poisonous dust for protection, another plant had given its leaves willingly to ease the burns on his skin. When he perched high in the branches of trees, they seemed almost to know what he had come to them for. Wood elves are all able to hear the songs of the forest, but Legolas had Silvan blood, and that made his connection to each individual plant all the stronger. Though Lord Elrond was not a Silvan elf, he had lived when they were far more common. Perhaps his knowledge extended far enough to help one of their kin.

“I believe your quest a good one, Legolas Thranduilion.” Galadriel offered her hand, and Legolas took it. “You will stay with us as an honoured guest until you are prepared to venture into the mountains. The dwarves are not always welcoming to our kind, but you come at a fortunate time. They will soon wish to trade with our city for the fruits we grow here in the forest. I believe that until then, they will be on their best behaviour.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, and Legolas smiled. Perhaps it would not be so bad as he had been led to expect of dwarves.

><><><

A week passed in good company and plentiful food and Elven wine. If not for the pull at his heart that told him he had somewhere else to be, Legolas would have happily remained for many weeks more in the woodland city. As it was, he waited long enough to travel with a party of Lorien elves who were going to the mines to discuss the upcoming trades, and then, thanking his hosts for their kindness and clad in a very practical new cloak, he departed.

The mountains seemed to grow taller with every hour that they moved closer to their slopes. The Great Gates, by the glassy surface of Mirrormere lake, did not become visible until they were almost upon them. They rose out of the ground, two grey stone pillars one third the height of the mountain, an arch stretching between them. They were like nothing Legolas had ever seen in the living green forests of the elves. These gates would not change with time – and had not, for they had stood there for many, many centuries without growing or bending. They were part of the mountain itself, and a dark tunnel lined with torches led the way inside. The diplomatic party entered without much pause, leaving Legolas running to catch up when he managed to tear his eyes from the gates.

Inside, they parted ways. The party from Caras Galadhon sought out the Dwarf Lord who ruled Moria, and Legolas continued still deeper into the mountains. He drew open and curious stares from many of the dwarves he passed, who had not seen an elf so far into the mines, and had never seen a Wood Elf at all. Though he did not differ very much in appearance from his kin, there were hints in the way he moved and the way he looked around him that he was not exactly the same as the elves they were used to dealing with, from Lothlorien. The quiet grace of Galadriel contrasted with the fluid movement of the woodland prince. He seemed to be almost made of motion, where other elves seemed quite content with absolute stillness.

Within a day, Legolas was convinced that he had become lost. Everywhere he looked was stone and tunnels, walkways clinging to the edges of a bottomless pit, light from lanterns that gave no indication of the time of day or night. And the dwarves never stopped. There was clanging and shouting at all hours, no matter how long he walked or how tired he began to feel, away from the world outside.

It had only been two days, and elves can walk for many more than two days without rest, but Legolas was separated from the world, and that sapped his spirits until he could only sit on a rock and rub at his eyes. Reaching into his pack, he drew out the letter to Lord Elrond and traced the lines of his name with a dusty index finger. The action left small grey smudges on the paper. Legolas closed his eyes completely, and tried to focus on his goal. He knew he was being foolish; this was only a place he didn’t know, not a path from which there was no return. But it had begun to feel that way. He missed the sunlight, and the softness of grass underfoot, and the sound of things that were not dwarves. He thought of Durin, who had seen a vision of his crown in the surface of Mirrormere, and wished he could find a lake in which he might see something of his own destination. Lord Elrond, and Imladris.

A voice sounded, echoing and yet, drawing no attention from the dwarves who were passing. A voice inside his head. Legolas wasn’t sure he could even have said what words were spoken, but the voice gave him strength, and he stood, returning the letter to his pack, and set himself facing west. He had only to keep walking, that was all.  
It was a further two days before Legolas found his way through the tunnels, into the cavernous open space of the bazaar, and beyond that, the even greater space of the throne room. He thought of stopping to introduce himself, but the desire to see feel moving air on his skin again was too difficult to ignore. Perhaps, he decided, he would simply do it when he came this way again – although, thinking of his four long days in the mountain, Legolas felt sure he would rather climb over their icy peaks than go without sunlight again.

The Doors of Durin were close. Within the hour, Legolas stepped out of the mountain and felt the world wash over him, blissfully warm and welcoming. He stood for several minutes like that, just soaking himself in outside air.

From the gate of Moria, it was a gentle downhill stroll along the banks of the Sirannon, the gate stream, beyond which lay the city of Ost-in-Edhil. It had been abandoned after the Great War against evil, but the beauty of the place was unmistakeable even so. Tall, slender spires stretched above the city wall, beyond which lay the remains of homes, libraries, shops and pools and all manner of buildings and parks. Legolas walked through the ruins in silence, thinking of Galadriel and Celeborn and the golden trees they had made their new home. He was not surprised, looking at the empty remains of their former city, that they had made a place that both welcomed and warned away now.

By this time, the sun had set, and Legolas spent the night in the remaining half of a very comfortable house in the city. He spread out his cloak from Caras Galadhon by the wall of a sheltered study and slept beneath the watchful spines of miraculously untouched books still patiently sitting on their shelves.

He had taken a long route, he knew, but that was no bad thing. Though his destination was Imladris, this was a quest for his purpose. Legolas thought that the more he knew of the world beyond Greenwood the Great, the closer he would surely get to discovering to what end he had been given inner light and brought into the world.

In Tharbad, across Swanfleet fenland, there were still the descendants of Dunedain settlers who would be able to offer him passage on one of their boats up the River Bruinen – perhaps even as far as Imladris itself. Before leaving, Legolas had thought that travelling through the mountains and then upriver would prove far more comfortable than crossing over the Misty Mountains where they met the grasses opposite the Old Ford. Now, he almost wished he had simply taken the mountain pass, even if it would have made his stay in Caras Galadhon impossible.

But there was no use in dwelling on that. Legolas had a difficult task ahead in finding one of the few who remained in Tharbad since its ruin, and more difficult task still in convincing them to let him travel on their barges. Though most had avoided the city since the War, a few families had clung to the edges of their former home, making their living through trade with Imladris. The Last Homely House was known by all to never turn away a person who came with good intentions, and in this way, it was possible for a handful of Dunedain to continue as they had since their ancestors settled and built Tharbad.

The trees thinned on the approach to the city. The reason for this became clear as the city walls came into view. Great shipyards and timber stores, half of which now stood in ruins worse than those of Ost-in-Edhil, loomed out of the river mists. It was not a city of elves, but neither was it entirely one of men. It had been built with an eye to centuries in the future, but was now barely a shell of its former glory.

Legolas wondered whether glory was the right word. He found himself recoiling from the thought of so many acres of forest razed in the name of shipbuilding and stoking the egos of rulers. He thought again of the living Mallorn trees, in whose branches the elves of Lothlorien made their homes, and decided that he would not stay longer than absolutely necessary in this place.

><><><

It is not necessary to dwell on the people Legolas encountered at Tharbad, who were defensive of their home and uncertain of strange elves, nor on the journey he took upriver on a trading barge bound for Imladris, which left three days after his arrival in the ruined city and agreed to carry him only in exchange for the valuable cloak he had been gifted by the Lady Galadriel. Legolas arrived at the Ford of Bruinen, across the river from the Trollshaws, within a week of his arrival at Tharbad. He thanked the Dunedan captain and promised a like favour, should he ever need one from an elf. And then he turned his back on the river, and the Trollshaws beyond, and once again stood facing the Misty Mountains. This time, the sun was rising in the east, and it shone from behind their snow-capped peaks. It was quite beautiful, which Legolas would have noticed if he had not been so long without any good rest.

Approaching the slopes, Legolas thought over all he had been told about Imladris – and its Lord, whose assistance he sought. The long journey had brought him scarcely closer to finding his own purpose. His travels through Moria had taught him that he could not be without nature for more than a day or two before it began to drain away his spirit, but that, he supposed, was no more than normal for a Wood Elf. He knew only that he loved the trees, and the plants which flourished between them, and that to be among them made him feel happier than anything else had had tried in his first thousand years of life.

Perhaps Lord Elrond would help.


End file.
